


Angel, Devil

by kirokumei



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/F, F/M, Lesbian Sex, Porn With Plot, Stripper!Historia, trans!ymir
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 19:37:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7374718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirokumei/pseuds/kirokumei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bachelor Party AU in which Jean is getting married, and Ymir is his best man.</p>
<p>Pre-Op Trans!Ymir/Stripper!Historia + additional suggested ships. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel, Devil

**Author's Note:**

> i might change the title of this story soon, so keep an eye out!
> 
> (sorry i just suck at naming things n didn't want to wait to publish the first chapter rip)

I have no idea why Jean asked me to be his best man. I thought his obvious choice would be Marco, or Connie, or even his friend that he hates-the-shit-out-of-but-deep-down-really-loves, Eren. But, no. About a year and a month ago, Jean Kirschtein sat me down at Burger King, asked me to be his best man, and I accepted. Who the hell says no to a request like that?

Having this role in the wedding didn’t require as much effort as I had feared. It turns out that most of the work is on the Maid of Honor’s shoulders, which I obviously didn’t mind. Annie has all the traits that a five star wedding planner needs (those including determination, intimidation, organization, negotiation, although no patience), so I’m positive she’s handling the responsibility well.

I have a very important duty as Jean’s best man, though, and I know I am perfect for the job. I have to plan the absolute best bachelor party ever. (Not just for Jean though. I have my own particular wishes as well, and this is my excuse to see to them.)

I already have a list made out for the best-bachelor-party-ever.

  * 6:00 - 6:30 PM: Meet up at Marco's place
  * 7:00 PM: Meal and hangout at Buffalo Wild Wings
  * 9:00 PM: PARTY at HANJI, the  _best_  dance/strip club  _in existence_



The plan is to keep all of our destinations a secret. The groomsmen and I are, in one way of describing it, going to kidnap Jean tomorrow night and whisk him away to his second-to-last night as an unmarried man. It’s going to be sick.

* * *

 

I pulled my long, dark brown hair back in a ponytail as I kicked my car door shut, leaning back on the metal of it promptly after. Reaching into my pants pocket, I fished out a half-empty pack of cigarettes, popping one between my chapstick-coated lips and lighting it up. As I watched the first cloud of secondhand smoke disperse into the air, the jostling of a window caught my attention, along with the childish shout of a certain 25-year-old.

“Oi, trespasser! No smoking on my property!” Jean shouted through the first floor window, leaning so far out of it that he was nearly outside. At that comment, I took a long drag off of the drug, pursing my lips and blowing ever so slowly a fog of smoke right in his face.

“Shit, that’s disgusting,” I heard him murmur in response, slamming the window shut, causing a chuckle to emit from my throat. I took one last puff from the cigarette before putting it out in his gravel driveway. He hates when I do that.

I climbed the steps of his porch and pulled open his screen door, which beat me to the obnoxious greeting that I had planned. It screeched loudly, desperately crying for an oiling. Closing the front door behind me, I walked into his kitchen, finding Marco typing vigorously on his fourth-generation iPhone. It looked so tiny in his hands; it amused me.

I took a seat next to him, allowing my eyes to wander about Jean and Mikasa’s cozy abode. They’d lived together for months now—they, practically, were already married. It was comfortable and domestic, ready to shelter a family. It made me prickle with envy, as I still lived in a rundown apartment in a shady part of the city.

Marco locked his phone and slid it across the table, planting his face on the surface in defeat. A long, drawn out groan escaped his lips as he turned his head so that his visage was only halfway visible.

“They lost our request to have a reserved party at Hanji, so the best we can do is get him a personal dancer or something. Ideally we’d each get someone, but paying for six individual guys is kinda pricey,” he complained.

I perked up an eyebrow. “Six? What about Bertl and Reiner?”

Marco laughed. “I know you invited them to be polite, but as gay as they are, do you really think they’d enjoy watching a bunch of naked women flaunt themselves?”

“It’s ironic you say that, since you and Jean are so homo. Maybe I should’ve chosen a gay bar?”

Marco sat up, a faint pink dusting his cheeks as he shook his head.

“You know we’re not like that—”

“Oh, I know, but you seem to forget that when you’re drunk,” I snorted, referring to the multiple drunken nights when Jean and Marco would get into a liquor-induced, hot, and heavy mess. Everyone simply let them be; we knew they loved each other deep down, but that was their business. It was fun to bring up for a reaction, though. Marco ended the conversation with a polite middle finger to my face, only dropping it when his other half walked into the room.

“One, I didn’t invite you into my house, so what the fuck; and two, if you drop another cigarette butt in my yard, I’m suing you,” he said, leaning on the back of the chair Marco was seated in.

I reached across the table to grab freckleface’s phone, tapping the home button to check the time. 6:06 PM. I smiled widely at the groom.

“I don’t think you invited three other perverted, sweaty guys here either, but here they’ll be.”

“Hah-?” he started, but before he could bitch about the intrusion, a car honked from outside the house. I stood from my chair and ran to the front door, swinging it open to welcome Armin, Eren, and Connie.

“Ymir! How’re you doing, my man?” Connie greeted with a quick hug, shuffling inside the house quickly to bother the pair in the kitchen. I boasted my own greeting in response as he stepped by me, followed by an arrogant German and his awkward blonde friend. Those two I wasn’t as close with, but they were butt-buddies with Jean, so we got along for the time being.

Twenty minutes of conversation and joking proceeded until the party decided to load up the cars. Jean was still unaware of the destinations that awaited him, and Armin was chosen to be the designated driver, since everyone else wanted to drink. The only issue was that six men of average size had to fit inside the blonde’s tiny Ford 500.

(In the end, Armin and Jean sat in the front, and in the back, Eren, Marco, and I sat, with Connie on M’s lap).

We, within fifteen minutes, pulled into the parking lot of Buffalo Wild Wings, squeezing out of the car as quickly as possible. It being the first of August, it was blazing hot; being packed in a cramped vehicle like we were took its toll on us, so we wanted our escape immediately.

The restaurant was particularly busy, being it a Saturday, so getting a table to seat us all took around thirty minutes. The waiter that was assigned to assist us was a short, mildly-handsome man that had the expression of someone who had never seen a lick of fun in his life.

He seated us at two adjoined tables in the middle of the restaurant, and once we were situated, asked what we wanted to drink. All of us—minus Armin—ordered some form of light liquor, to get a head start on our buzz. We went around the table and ordered respectively, although Eren was the last to pitch in.

“I’ll have a Blue Moon,” he said, although instead of writing down his drink, the waiter scoffed.

“Are you sure you’re old enough for that?” he asked, eyes pooling with amusement.

“Wha-?” Eren started, gesturing toward the ID that he had placed on the table. “I’m 25 years old!”

The waiter—Levi, his nametag said—picked up the card, studying it closely. Then, satisfied, he returned it to its owner, and jotted down the order with a laugh.

“I could’ve just sworn you were thirteen. My mistake,” he said, clicking his pen. Everyone at our table laughed at the bold statement.

Sheer disbelief was drawn across Eren’s face as Levi sauntered away, and Armin, who was seated next to him, was keeling over the table in laughter, despite the incident not being funny anymore.

“It’s okay, Eren; despite your lack of facial hair, I think you look very much your age,” the blonde said, swallowing his last fit of giggles.

Eren’s eyes shot daggers at his friend as his hand felt around his own face, finding nothing more than disappointment there.

“Okay, but in all seriousness, how has that guy not been fired yet? He’s not very professional at all,” Jean questioned, resting his head in his palm.

“Maybe he’s fucking the manager, Captain America, over there,” I said half-jokingly, pointing towards an official looking, handsome man of very tall stature across the restaurant.

“Likely. I definitely get a scandalous vibe from him,” Eren inputted sourly.

“You’re just being salty,” Jean barked in reply, amusement thick in his words. I snickered.

Before long, dinner was over, my stomach full with wings, fries, and alcohol. I was _so_ pumped for the final destination, the highlight of the night. We filed out of the restaurant quickly, all of us brimming with excitement except for Jean, who was awash with slight confusion and hope.

We piled into the car in the same order that we had the first round, although before we took off to the club, Connie pulled out a blindfold from the pocket on the back of the passenger seat and placed it atop Jean’s eyes. He resisted, questioning what the hell he was doing, to which he yelled “You’re in for a surprise!” and tied it in a tight knot on his head. Armin plugged his phone into the AUX cord and blared Madonna’s Rebel Heart album and then, we were on our way.

As the sixth song neared its end and we continued to shamelessly belt out lyrics, the radio was turned off, as well as the vehicle.

Jean asked, “Can I look yet?”

Marco said, “Go for it.”

He slipped the blindfold off of his eyes and looked through the passenger door window, at the massive building to our right. It had a wide, neon sign that said “HANJI” in pink letters and had the words “Pick Your Experience” written similarly below it. Jean stared for a few long seconds before he turned toward me with wide eyes.

“This is the dumbest idea you’ve ever had.”

I raised my eyebrows, a puzzled expression raw on my face.

“Are you suggesting you don’t want to see many diverse, beautiful women doing their best to entertain you while you’re allowed to watch them?”

Jean shook his head. “I’m not allowed! Mikasa will kill me if she finds out about this!”

I furrowed my eyebrows. “I already talked to her about it, dumbass. She says that she’s okay with it, since she might end up doing something like this, herself. God knows what that closet perv Annie’s planned.”

A smile crept onto the groom’s face.

“God bless you, best man,” he said, jumping halfway into the backseat to plant a quick, playful kiss on my lips. I pushed him off with a laugh.

“My vagina is now as dry as your sense of humor,” I said, and Jean cackled.

“No homo!”

Everyone in elated spirits, we tramped into the club, the sound of electronic music instantly surrounding us. We were in what seemed to be a foyer, lined with red and black striped wallpaper and a counter that blocked any entrances into the rest of the establishment. We waited only minutes before a loud, brunette woman clad in a very… _kinky_ outfit burst into the room on the opposite side of the counter, her minimal attire undoubtedly tempting all of our eyes.

“Welcome, welcome to my humble establishment! I’m Hanji, the embodiment of this place.”

I think more than one of us snickered when she said “humble”.

“Have any of you been to any of the divisions before?”

I looked around, and apparently, no one had.

“That’s wonderful! It’ll be a fresh experience for all of you then. It’s pretty busy tonight, but I hope you’ll find yourself comfortable here. Now, is there any special occasion or reason why you’ve all come?”

I raised my hand. “Jean here is getting hitched in a few days, and we wanted to make sure he had a good time before he got tied down,” I said loudly, rubbing my hand through his hair roughly.

The woman simply beamed. “Oh, a bachelor party! But I don’t think we have any special parties reserved?” she said, the last sentence inclined as a question. She reached below the counter and retrieved a clipboard with a pile of papers and elegantly began to skim through them.

“I called earlier actually, you lost my request…” Marco said, a twinge of guilt in his voice for calling her out so bluntly.

“Oh, my! I’m so sorry, but I hope you won’t let this setback ruin your night. I’ll make sure my girls give you a marvelous time though, I promise! Moving on though— do you boys know anything about the different divisions?”

“I do,” Marco began, “because when I was making the reservation, I had to choose one. But I think it’d be best if you explained them to the rest of us so they can decide themselves.”

Hanji nodded eagerly, crossing her arms and leaning over the bar.

“Every perverted heart has different desires, on different levels. I decided to incorporate that into my cute little environment here. I have three divisions for you to choose from.

“The first is Maria, which involves the classic striptease experience. There’s erotic stage dancing, super hot music, and the most gorgeous ladies in town.

“The second is Rose, which is essentially just a normal club, with dancing, drinks, and occasionally, live entertainment. It’s the tamest one.

“The third is Sina. It’s my favorite.~ Let’s just say if you don’t like whips, leather, or chains, that division is not for you,” she said, a smug curve on her lips. Her outfit reflected that branch quite well; it resembled a one-piece swim suit, except cut down the middle and supported with laces that threaded up to her chest. A belt was snug on her waist as well, with a bedazzled buckle that unabashedly read “Mistress”.

 “Oh, and if you decide you want a private show or dance, we have many rooms in the back. It costs a bit extra, though.”

We, after her spill, discussed our options, but a decision was made quickly.

“We’d like to go into Maria,” Jean finalized.

“Okie dokie!” She grinned, standing from her relaxed position and stepping nimbly to the far right of the lobby, beckoning for us to follow. She plucked a massive metal ring off of her evocative belt and filed through a surplus of keys before finding the correct one and unlocking a door that allowed us past the counter. “Since we lost your request, it’s your first time here, and it’s your bachelor party, I’ll let you guys in for free. But that doesn’t apply for private shows! You still need to pay for that, okay? Have an awesome night~!”

We all hooted loudly as we began to lope into the club, loud music and neon colors suddenly overwhelming us. Hanji had been right when she said that it was busy; there was a mass of people of varying genders and ages cramped in the “division”, so much so that I worried we wouldn’t find a place to sit. We did, however—Connie spotted a booth on the farthest wall of the vicinity that would comfortably harbor our party, so quickly, in childish excitement, we scuttled over.

We scooted into the seats and cast our eyes toward the front of the room, which consisted of a wide stage with multiple poles on either side. There were two performers onstage: One was tall, with thick black locks and piercing grey eyes. The other was shorter, with long red hair, light freckles, and endearing green irises. They were mirroring each other on the poles and on the floor, dancing suggestively, yet masterfully to the music. Behind them was a colossal screen that displayed what I assumed were the dancers’ names—Sweetie Carolina and Holly Diamond—as well as the occasional few phrases of lyrics to the song that was playing, “Who’s Your Mama?” by J.Y. Park.

It was amazing, what these girls could do, as well as incredibly hot. I watched in silent admiration before my trance was broken by Jean’s abrupt outburst.

“Where is Marco?” he asked loudly, shocking us all, looking foolish as he was nearly standing on the booth’s seat. My eyes shifted from Jean, to the others, and to the rest of the division before I quickly realized he was right— where did Marco go?

“Calm down, I’m gonna text him. He’s probably fine,” I reassured, tugging on his shirt in an attempt to have him settle down. For God’s sake, Marco is 26; Jean worries too much sometimes.

“Yeah, but he’s like a little puppy, and there are some sick people in these places. What if he got dragged into that kinky dungeon division?!”

I snorted, beginning to type a message to M, and retorted, “Maybe he’s into that.”

Not even sparing a glance to see the groom’s reaction, I sent the message: “Where did u go? Jean is having a heart attack. He needs u freckle jesus”.

Marco replied swiftly: “Srry. I’m still with Hanji, getting Jean a private show. It’s pretty pricey!! D: But aww, tell him that jesus is coming soon <3”

I looked up at Jean, who was having a conversation with the other guys, pondering the missing’s whereabouts. I waited until a pause in their discussion before I interrupted:

“Spoiler alert: He’s with Hanji, making sure you get your ass laid tonight. It was supposed to be a surprise, but since you flipped your shit, I had no choice. He said he misses you so much, doll,” I said, a teasing lilt in my voice.

He shoved me in the shoulder before resuming his conversation, this time more lighthearted, the banter only pausing when Marco jogged up to the booth and scooted in next to me.

“Sorry, that took longer than I expected. But Jean, after the main act—which is arouuund… 12?—the woman will come here and accompany you to your private room.”

Jean nodded, leaning over the table to look at Marco.

“Awesome, thanks man!” he bellowed, reaching across me to do a hand shake that only the two of them got. (What nerds).

“Okaay, now that the gayness is over, how about we get some drinks!” Connie roared, to which we all agreed to eagerly, finally beginning the final stage of the party.


End file.
